Into Temptation (A More Than Men Novella)

by Kira Sinclair

  He bestowed a benevolent smile on her, something he’d probably intended to resemble an innocent and harmless grandfather but came off more like a slickly devious used-car salesman. “Would you like to save him from this fate, Evangeline Carr? Would you like to prove your love for this being? Your loyalty, trust and faith.”

  Evie licked her lips. It was tempting to say yes, but she was negotiating with the devil and knew better than to lay all her cards on the table just yet.

  “He lied to me. Why should I trust him — or you?”

  “He didn’t lie to you. He protected you — and your daughter. Are you willing to do any less?”

  Evie shook her head. Brone grunted, forcing a jagged sound through his frozen lips. She stared at his eyes, deep, dark and painfully blue. Silently he begged her. She knew what he was asking. The moment he’d broken the contract, he must have known what his fate would be. And he’d done it anyway. Lucifer was right; he’d protected her and Megan.

  And would she repay that sacrifice by falling straight into the hands of the man he’d been trying to thwart?

  A single tear slipped over her lashes and trailed silently down her cheek. Brone’s eyes shut and stayed that way for several seconds, as if he prayed, before opening again. Relief filled his eyes. Relief and acceptance.

  They were the hardest words she’d ever had to say, but somehow Evie found the strength to push them through her throat. “No, I will not save him.”

  “You would let him suffer?”

  “No, I will honor his sacrifice. I will tell my daughter every day about the amazing creature who gave up everything to save us both. I will pray that one day we’ll find a way through the barriers placed between us. I will have faith and live on hope. And as long as I’m alive, I will love him the best way I know how.”

  “Even if that means you will never see him again?”

  “Especially if I will never see him again.” With deliberate steps, and no longer afraid of the man that stood silently by and watched, Evie closed the space between them. Pressing her lips to Brone’s, she reveled in the flash of heat and warmth that suffused her body when they touched.

  He couldn’t respond, but that didn’t matter. This kiss was a connection of the soul, not of the body. He didn’t need to move for that; all he had to do was accept what she was giving him, just as she’d accepted what he’d given to her.

  It wasn’t until she stepped back that she realized the flash of heat wasn’t entirely due to Brone.

  Another man had joined the party. This one was bathed in radiant light as if the sun itself streamed down across him wherever he went. He snapped his fingers, and Brone collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  A loud sound split the air, something akin to thunder but so much louder. The echo of it rumbled painfully through her chest. No, wait, that wasn’t sound. The walls around them rippled, wood groaning in protest. The floor buckled, and dust rained down across them all. Surely to God the building was going to crumble and bury them all.

  “You cannot do that,” Lucifer screamed, his voice booming through the chamber.

  “He is no longer yours to command. He has requested forgiveness, and I have granted it. Brone is one of my chosen now and will return with me. There is nothing left for you here, Lucifer. Leave.”

  Lucifer howled, the sound full of frustration and rage. It scraped across her eardrums, making her cringe and cover. A loud pop rocked the room. She could feel the wave of power as it pushed out and then sucked back in. A blinding flash of light followed. Her eyes screwed tight, a reflex to protect herself.

  When she opened them again, she was alone. And it was her turn to scream. “Wait.” The single word reverberated around her. The next fell out of numb lips on a whisper as she collapsed to the floor. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  Chapter Eight

  Evie wasn’t certain how long she stayed there, a crumpled mess sprawled across the dirty floor. It didn’t matter. He was gone. She’d never see him again.

  Her one consolation was knowing he wasn’t headed for a millennium of deprivation. His torture was over. But in the quiet of her mind, she acknowledged the thought was small comfort because hers was only beginning.

  What finally broke through was the slam and rush of someone else coming into the courtroom. She stirred, realizing she needed to go home if she was going to have an emotional breakdown. Somehow she was going to have to find a way to go on with her life, and she really needed to have a job waiting for her when she did.

  Evie found the strength to shove herself up off the floor.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Another prosecutor raced across the courtroom toward her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for her elbow to steady her. Jackson had always been a nice guy, if a little too eager at times.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Because telling him the truth — that she’d just met Lucifer, God and lost the love of her life, who just happened to be a formerly fallen angel — wasn’t going to help.

  “Did you hear what happened?” Jackson’s eyes glimmered with glee, and he bounced happily on the balls of his feet. Why did he suddenly remind her of a spaniel?

  “No,” she answered, leaning down to gather the papers that had fallen to the floor when she had.

  “Monroe Stilton dropped dead on the courthouse steps.”

  She stilled, bent double, and stared at the floor for several seconds before straightening. “What?”

  “Monroe Stilton. He dropped dead. They’re saying most likely a massive coronary. Gone before his body even hit the steps. The paramedics tried to revive him, but I don’t think they tried very hard. Not that anyone would blame them. The man was vile.”

  When, when, when? It was the only thought that pulsed through her brain. She had no idea why it was so important, but it was. “When? When did he die?”

  “About thirty minutes ago. Right after they released him from custody. It’s been a media circus, and we’ve been trying to find you to tell you. I should have known you’d be in here wallowing in the loss. This one wasn’t your fault, Evie. It was a shit case, and everyone knew it. There was no way you could have won.”

  But she had. For the second time in a very few minutes, her legs failed her. But this time instead of hitting the floor, the back of her legs collided with the edge of one of the observation benches, and she sank bonelessly into it.

  He’d done this. She had no idea how, but this is what Brone had meant when he’d promised her Megan would be fine. Monroe would never hurt her, hopefully because he was roasting in Hell.

  And she’d never be able to thank him.

  He’d never thought to see this place again. It had always been beautiful, peaceful, but now it was more so. Maybe because he’d missed it but hadn’t let himself acknowledge the loss. Because he’d never expected to be back.

  The empty chamber echoed around him. In the distance someone sang, the sound clear and crisp. Someone was always singing here. He’d missed that, too.

  Brone drank everything in, letting the calm and peace soak into his skin. But not even this place could take away the pain. It hurt, knowing he was here and she wasn’t. It shouldn’t. Heaven was the ultimate goal, the oasis. But for him it was just as much of a torture as Lucifer’s deprivation had been.

  Because she wasn’t there.

  “You are unhappy here.”

  It wasn’t a question but a statement. The Creator knew everything, he didn’t have to ask, but Brone still felt the need to answer. He didn’t wish God to think him unappreciative of the unbelievable gift he’d been given.

  “I am not unhappy. I am—” He searched for the right word. Disappointed. Grieving. Upset. They all made it sound like he wished to be somewhere else. But he shouldn’t, and he realized that. He also couldn’t lie to God, not even if he’d wanted to. “Sad.”

  “You do not have to stay.”

  “But I do not want to go. I will not go back.” Bro
ne’s resolve hardened. He’d given up paradise once; he would not make the same mistake twice.

  “There is a choice between Heaven and Hell, Brone. There are sacrifices, as there always are, but you are free to make them. I would no more cage you here than I wanted you caged there.”

  “But…”

  “You will lose your immortality, become a man just like many others. You will be tempted and tested. You will feel pain and sorrow. You will one day lose the woman you would sacrifice all for. But you would also be content and happy in the years that you will share together. You will have children and grandchildren and as long a life as I can provide.”

  Free will. He could leave, just as he’d done once before. Brone’s heart hammered with the possibility, but guilt kept him from taking the leap. He’d made the wrong choice once, and he was so afraid this was another test. And that he’d fail.

  As if sensing the conflict roiling inside him, a steadying weight settled against his shoulder.

  “You must make this decision for yourself, Brone. But know that if you leave us, I will be nothing but hopeful and happy for you. Either path is correct. The question is, which is the one you prefer?”

  Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the warming glow of his light vanished and Brone was alone once more. Faced with a decision that should have been easy to make.

  He wanted to be with Evie, had been willing to sacrifice everything for her once before. So what had changed?

  The true answer was nothing. Given the chance, he would do it all again. For one more moment in time with her, he would gladly have endured millennia more of isolation. But that wasn’t the choice he had to make.

  Immortality would stretch hollowly forever without her to share it. He’d much rather have fifty years with her than eternity without.

  The moment the decision flashed through his mind, he was falling. Arms and legs flailed into nothingness. His stomach lurched, and a tearing pain seared across his back. His body bowed, and he fought the sensation. He remembered it from the first time and for a moment panicked, trying to battle the pull and find a way back up to what he’d lost. Again. And then the sliver of Evie’s eyes tempted him and he relaxed, melting into the knowledge that she would be there, waiting for him.

  Evie had lost track of time. Maybe it had been days since he’d left and maybe it had been weeks. All she knew was that the pain wasn’t getting any easier to bear.

  Megan was home, and her bright, smiling face helped. She gave Evie a reason to move forward. Her hugs and kisses began to heal the unseen wounds, if not completely, then at least a little.

  It was Wednesday…or maybe it was Thursday. She’d taken several days off work, needing to let go of all her other responsibilities at least for a little while. After the Monroe case, her boss hadn’t hesitated to let her have the time.

  Today she’d brought Megan to the park close to their apartment. It was a sticky July day, but Megan didn’t care. Her dark hair hung in damp strands down her back, and several curls clung to her pert, heart-shaped face. And still she ran, a sparkle in her eyes and laughter on her lips. Every few minutes she would run up to Evie’s spot on the bench and fling her arms around her mother.

  Despite Evie’s efforts not to let it show, Megan could sense her sadness and had been trying to kiss and hug her back to happiness.

  Megan was chattering about what they were going to have for dinner when something off to the side caught Evie’s attention. She turned in a cursory motion, expecting it to be some child or dog bounding into the park.

  But what stared back at her sent her heart careening around her chest. Could he be real?

  “Mommy?” Megan’s little voice pulled her back. Round green eyes stared at her, hesitant and concerned.

  Evie realized she was no longer sitting on the bench, but was halfway down the path toward him, Megan’s hand gripped tight in hers. Had she been dragging her daughter behind her? What was wrong with her?

  But the need to answer that question disappeared the moment Brone’s arms snatched her around the waist and crushed her to him.

  It really was him.

  “How?” she breathed out before his mouth fused to hers.

  The kiss was full of all the longing she’d been fighting since he left, but it didn’t last long. Not with Megan’s hand tugging heavily against hers.

  “Mommy, who is this man? Why are you kissing him?”

  Brone pulled back, laughter and happiness swirling deep in his eyes. She’d been so overwhelmed at seeing him that she hadn’t noticed the changes until that moment. His eyes were different, still dark blue, but less…powerful. His body wasn’t as hard. Oh, it was plenty toned and fit, but it lacked the sharp edge of perfection he’d had before. And when she ran her hands along the raised edge of his spine, the almost imperceptible ridge of his wings was gone.

  Yanking out of his grip, Evie stumbled backward. “Oh my God, what have you done?”

  “Exactly what I wanted.”

  “Your wi—” Her voice trailed off, and she cut her eyes to Megan, who was standing between the two adults and hanging on their every word. “They’re gone. Why?”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close until his mouth was nestled next to her ear. “You were willing to give up your soul for me. Do you think I’d be unwilling to make a similar sacrifice? I’ve already spent an eternity without you, Evangeline Carr. I wasn’t willing to spend another. Heaven without you would have been just as desolate as every one of those solitary centuries. I’m here for as long as you’ll have me.”

  Tears of joy, sweeter because they were so unexpected, washed her eyes. “Forever. And again.”

  Continue reading for an excerpt of

  The Walking Sexy

  The Walking Sexy

  By Andrea Laurence

  745 Days since the Outbreak

  18:53 Hours

  "Damn, you rotten bastards stink."

  Greyson Foster tossed a stray arm onto the pile of burning, infected corpses and crinkled his nose in disgust. Whether you called them zombies, biters, flesh eaters, stumblers, walkers, rotters, the undead — or his personal favorite, meat puppets — there was nothing quite like the smell of their burning bodies. It was one of the worst funks Grey had ever encountered, but over the last two years since the outbreak, it had become a familiar and comforting scent, like apple pie had been in his childhood.

  Apple pie. He missed that kind of stuff. There weren’t any fresh-baked goods around these parts anymore. He was lucky to find a stale, cellophane-wrapped cupcake in an abandoned gas station. But he hadn’t given up hope of having it again one day.

  There were rumors that the virus hadn’t reached the western United States yet. Most survivors had fled the South, leaving it a giant ghost town. At first, Grey thought he might go with the living he’d once considered to be his brothers and sisters, but that hadn’t worked out. Not once they saw his bandaged arm.

  And the unhealed bite mark that lay beneath it.

  They were right to be scared of Grey. Any other person he’d encountered with a bite from one of the infected had died and reawakened with a desperate hunger for living human flesh. That was what happened to James. His friend had been one of the first to come down with the delirious fever. He’d stumbled, frightened, into Grey’s apartment and started vomiting blood. James hadn’t meant to bite Grey. He apologized profusely. And then he was dead.

  Grey had seen some terrible things while he was in the Marines. Two tours in the Middle East had both traumatized and desensitized him. It was the perfect training for what was to come after the outbreak. When James’s body shot up from the couch and stumbled after him with pale, dead eyes, Grey had fled his apartment and never gone back.

  The bite also never healed. And Grey never became one of the dead, although he had changed.

  He didn’t know what he was anymore. Aside from cold. Grey was outfitted in some military gear and weapons he’d found at an abandoned army base. He’d s
pent so many years in fatigues that the clothes made him feel comfortable and ready for battle. But it was summer gear, and fall was settling in. The first start of color had begun to touch the leaves. The cooler air was a blessed break from the oppressive southern heat. He never realized how much he loved air-conditioning until he didn’t have it anymore. Or central heat.

  The sun was about to disappear for the night. Grey picked up the last of the day’s kills and tossed the body onto the grim funeral pyre. He’d dispatched twelve today, so the flames would burn most of the night and keep him warm. He’d slept by the warmth of burning biters every evening since the power went out. Destroying the bodies seemed like the most sanitary thing to do. It was also a deterrent to any of the stumblers in the immediate area.

  Normally a fire would draw the undead, any light would, but they weren’t as stupid as people liked to think. They seemed to have a keen sense of smell and were drawn to the scent of the living. Grey was fairly certain they used smell to track their prey. His own sense of smell had increased exponentially since he was bitten, which was unfortunate considering hygiene was pretty substandard anymore. The warm, musky human scent was irresistible to a biter. At the same time, the scent of burning zombie bodies repelled them. They would go the other direction on pure instinct.

  Grey eased back onto a concrete curb to rest and looked around him. He hadn’t paid much attention to what town he was in. It seemed like he was on the edges of a fairly large city. Last he saw, he was in Tennessee. He’d been following I-40 out of North Carolina, so this might be the fringes of Knoxville.

  He scanned the various buildings and signs, but nothing offered any clues.

  And then he saw it. A light.